The Problem and the Cure
by Dave the Wordsmith
Summary: My name is Jane Lane, and I have a problem. There’s only one thing that can cure it.


**Title: The Problem and the Cure**

**Author:** SinisterDragula

**Rating:** Rated T

**Genre:** Mystery/Angst

**Words: **1,912

**Disclaimer: **Daria is owned by MTV Networks, a division of Viacom International, Inc. All the copyrights associated with Daria belong to them. Only the ideas contained within this story are the property of the author. No profit is being earned by the writer of this story.

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Yo. My name is Jane Lane, and I have a problem.

There's only one thing that can cure it. I'll explain later. This is why I'm in this downward spiral.

It's the pounding in my head.

It won't go away. Not even when lying here on my bed.

No matter what I do, it won't go away, damnit.

A herd of horses galloping down a dry, cobblestone road. That's what it sounds like. A pack of Clydesdale's, maybe? Could be. Whatever's making that sound, it won't stop.

'What's the reason for the pounding?' you ask. I don't know, you tell me. All I know is it hasn't gone away since that day last month. The day she left.

Daria Morgendorffer.

God I miss her. I miss her so much I'm afraid to admit it. Could you imagine I'd cry to someone about it? Yeah, thought so. Anyway, my separation from Daria is like being in a prison cell with Brittany, Kevin and Mr. O'Neill and throwing away the key. Hell, add Bing and Spatula Man to the mix if you're that much of a sadist. Hell would definitely envy that.

But I digress.

When Daria left town and moved to Raft, a piece of me went with her. I can't explain it in words, you just have to know how it feels.

For example, let's say someone went to Hell, right? They come back and tell you 'Hey, this is what Hell is like, I've been there,' but you laugh at them because they're crazy. 'What are you talking about?' you say, 'Hell doesn't exist. Now get out of my way, I'm trying to watch the Sick Sad World marathon here', you know, something to that effect.

Hey, I know what you're thinking. 'Jane, you'll see here in Boston anyway, so stop worrying!' Oh, how clever for coming up with that idea. Been there, done that, got the tee-shirt. I had no choice but to come back here to Casa Lane for good. Here's why.

Hold on, it's the pounding again. It's getting louder. God, it's so bad. But I've got to explain this.

You see, my evil side came out again; the same evil side that unfortunately almost ripped my friendship apart with Daria last year. You know, because of the whole Tom thing that made me declare my 'hate' for Daria because of what she did to me. The jealous, despicable, envious, evil side I suppressed for an entire year, only for it to fly out like all the terrible things that could happen to mankind from Pandora's box, that's what came back last month. With a vengeance.

Can you believe Daria found someone she could hold on to after Tom? Well, she did. His name was Brent. He was almost like Tom, and a bit like Daria too. Except he's male, of course. Daria did what a true friend does. She introduced him to me. I'll admit it took a while for Daria to completely trust Brent. I was surprised when she didn't rebuke him and want him out of our presence that day at Pizza King. Or grumble about how we couldn't meet for pizza pie as often because she's dating him.

A few days passed. Life goes on. At this point I took a step back and realized the interaction between Brent, Daria and I seemed so familiar, like it was the Tom thing all over again. I could sense the relationship between Brent and Daria was getting worse. I have no idea why it did, but, it did.

Then a few days later, Daria and I were walking down Dega Street on her visit back to Lawndale, and that's when I let the cat out of the bag.

The day before I hung out with Daria, I saw Brent one day after he left class at Raft. I happened to be in Boston with Trent and the guys from Mystik Spiral. We talked in his car for a while, and we did it. Gave him a smooch, a kiss, a big fat wet one, and with tongue I might add. Well, maybe there wasn't any tongue.

But tongue or not, it still brought pain to my heart after I realized what I did.

At that very moment, she came out. Yes, that's right, the 'Evil Jane'. The 'Evil Jane' I hid for so long. The Evil Jane even Trent wishes didn't exist. 'Evil Jane' and Daria had a horrible argument right there in the street in broad daylight, and called their friendship quits. So far, there's been no reconciliation. Damn you 'Evil Jane'. Damn you to Hell for doing this to me.

I can feel the deep cuts I've given myself with that knife from the kitchen. They burn just from the thought of that memory. My dirty, disheveled room hasn't been cleaned in weeks but I'm not ashamed. Open, stained pizza boxes and my scattered art supplies are all over the floor and my bed.

But I don't care.

Oh, the cuts, how they burn so much. I still remember when I carved each one and why I did it.

And the pounding continues. It's so intense and insatiable that I reach up to grab the sides of my head and massage my temples.

The sun shines through the window to rest its warm rays over my body as I lay on my bed in an attempt to make me feel better. But it's not working. Not at all.

Trent. Oh Trent.

I can see why Trent left. I don't blame him.

The arguments, the accusations, the lies, the forced explanations we gave each other day in and day out, especially from me. People can only take so much until they break and stop trying to bend. Even a guy like Trent has his limits.

He said he needed some new guitar strings, and then up and left. He hasn't been back since. It's been a month now. Almost like Daria. Just gone. No calls, trips back to get anything else he left in his room.

Nothing.

And that's not all, folks. BFAC canceled my classes due to major budget cuts, which coincidentally happened to be for classes that were in my schedule. My scholarship went under because I didn't meet the requirements I needed for the semester. I have no way to afford BFAC without Trent's help and because I do not exactly meet the requirements for other scholarships, I'm ass out. I'm stuck. And my art sales are slower than the wheels turning in Kevin's head, if any wheels are in there at all.

Daria, Daria, Daria.

I'd love to talk to you again, but God knows how much it would take to make things better. Our "reuniting" would be a lie one of us is afraid to reveal the truth of. I still remember the last day we met, a few days after our first argument. At first it was a temporary truce. A few moments later, the unexpected epithet exchange, getting kicked out your dorm, crying outside your door.

I called Daria on her cell phone but it was no go. So, I did the only other thing I could do.

That unforgettable evening, the cold wind blew under my collar and on my arms as I got up and pounded my fist on her door. And it stayed closed, as I expected it would.

"Daria! Let's talk about this! Maybe we can work something out!" My face leaned against the door as I waited for her to come out.

But she didn't.

All I heard was a quiet, but spiteful "Lane, I don't ever want to see you again." God, just thinking of it again makes me want to shed tears. But I can't. There's no reason to, because of what I'm about to do.

The cuts. They burn like fresh magma bubbling beneath the earth's crust.

The pounding. It's almost deafening now.

I almost forgot my Glock model 22 is resting on my chest. I can see it rise and fall with my slow, relaxed breathing. I should be nervous; hyperventilating, right? But I feel as serene as a gentle breeze. Even with the pounding and the cuts. I've gotten over it now.

In my hand, the Glock feels so cold, but so warming at the same time. It's so black, so small, but as they say, looks can be deceiving. It's also powerful. One shot. Boom. That's all it takes. From an angle, it looks so pretty. Well, it could be male so, it could be handsome too.

The trigger. It's calling me. It wants me to pull it.

So after all that backstory, you know what my problem is, right?

Right.

The pounding, the cuts, the ruined friendships, mistreating family, worrying at times.

No peace.

Trent Reznor said it best: _'Everyone I know goes away in the end…I will let you down, I will make you hurt.'_

'And what's the cure?', you wonder. I'm gonna show you.

I can feel the barrel of the gun against the side of my head. This is it. I can't stop myself. There's no turning back. This is the only cure to my problem. And I'm about to administer it right now.

After I get the cure, no more pounding.

No more burning cuts.

No more ruined friendships and estranged family members.

No more worrying.

Just peace and quiet.

Forever.

Daria, I hope you smile when you think of me.

Remember, "it's better to burn out than to fade away".

*Click* "Boom."

**The End.**

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**Notes: **Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave/send comments, whether good or bad!

"Hurt" was written by Trent Reznor, and copyrights associated with "Hurt" belong to him.

"My My Hey Hey (Out of the Blue)" was written by Neil Young, and copyrights associated with "My My Hey Hey (Out of the Blue)" belong to him.


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